


promise to keep

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Feel-good, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Post-Canon, Recovery, Slice of Life, if you squint?? - Freeform, kind of, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 12:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16660843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: [Spoilers for Lost Light 25]Amidst an influx of messages in condolence for Ratchet, Drift finds one he is inclined to respond to.





	promise to keep

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello I still have a lot of feelings. I wrote this several nights ago but I've been pulling out carpet in our new house for the past few days and passing out on the couch at 9 pm each night so... I had to attack it on a morning before I got into all of that again haha
> 
> This was supposed to be a gift for a dear friend and I wanted it to be... more Driftrod?? but I uh, got lost in my feelings and cried again so. yeah. indulgent feel-good stuff is go! I hope you like it <3 (upon re-reading to edit this a little I feel like we truly mind-melded here...)

Drift’s palm-comm kept beeping and he wondered what on Cybertron had possessed him to bump it off mute. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the sentiments, or how lasting Ratchet’s reach had been, but a deluge of messages at some point all began to sound the same — prefabricated, stale words that were just said when something like this happened and people felt that saying something was better than always regretting saying nothing. Drift wasn’t exactly bitter about it, but it also did not help his grieving.

 

He sighed as he grabbed it from the side table, intending to just turn the volume off again and go back to his reading. But he paused at the most recent message blinking on the screen. The frequency wasn’t known to him, but some of it was familiar…

 

 

> [XTS-861218-R]: There, now you have my number.

 

Drift squinted at it. If nothing else, it had him interested in _one_ of the incoming transmissions on this device. He unlocked the keyboard and began typing a reply.

 

[MOB-082020-D]: Do I get a name along with it?

[XTS-861218-R]: Oh please, I know the ship scrambles it a little since I’m using the subspace relay to boost my reach, but who else would message you from underneath a communication console in the middle of the night?

 

Drift chuckled softly. The mental image of Rodimus shirking some of a duty shift to wire his personal comm into the long-range communication relays of the _Exitus_ was certainly something.

 

 

> [MOB-082020-D]: It’s midday here.
> 
> [XTS-861218-R]: Details.
> 
> [MOB-082020-D]: How far off are you, if you’re using the ship’s subspace relays?
> 
> [XTS-861218-R]: Oh we’re… way far off. Like, way past…

 

Odd how the silence seemed awkward and strained even over text.

 

 

> [MOB-082020-D]: You have no idea, do you?
> 
> [XTS-861218-R]: Well, it’s not like I’m the one driving, so…

 

Drift frowned at the little screen in his hand. That wasn’t like Rodimus. Sure, they had spent more time apart since the _Lost Light_ had been retired than either of them would have liked, but—

 

No matter what Rodimus said, Drift knew what he saw when he saw it. The endearing image he’d conjured in his mind before had been replaced with the suspicion of Rodimus stashing himself in a corner, drunk, rigging his comm to message Drift. He shook it away; given that this was over simple text transmissions, he could make no real assessment either way. And he knew from how dodgy Rodimus had gotten at Ratchet’s memorial that pushing the issue might mean another long silence between them. It had already been a month since he’d seen Rodimus then, and he already felt himself latching onto this new thread of contact.

 

Keep in touch, he’d said out loud.

 

 _Miss you,_ the caress of his hands had spelled out.

 

As caring as they were, as thoughtful as their reaching out was, Ratchet’s friends were still Ratchet’s. Rodimus would talk to him like a regular person, at the very least. Rodimus was _his_ friend.

 

 

> [MOB-082020-D]: I’m glad you messaged me... Even if it is at midnight from beneath a communication bench.
> 
> [XTS-861218-R]: Ha! Only the most glamorous of mental images for you to enjoy.
> 
>  

Silly, teasing chatter filled the rest of the night and it was such a relief; Drift felt like it was the most he’d smiled in over a month.

 

—

 

Once it had been established, the chatting was easy. Rodimus had provided a simple and easy outlet, and Drift was only too happy to fulfill his promise with daily messages. They weren’t about anything, really, but that was the point. That was the freeing part. He didn’t have to construct an image out of painstaking words. He didn’t have to dread the canned words and their going-through-the-motions responses. Drift could just _talk_ , and it didn’t have to be about Ratchet, even though it could.

 

Comfort. That had been one of the things Drift had missed.

 

Still, finally, one day about a week later:

 

 

> [XTS-861218-R]: Are you… doing okay, though?
> 
>  

That wasn’t unexpected. Drift had already started typing an automatic reply before he stopped. Was he? Maybe. But by what metric was it measured? He was no stranger to loss, but the loss of what-could-have-beens in mecha like Wing was utterly different than the loss of everything-that-was with Ratchet. The sting hung heavy in his spark.

 

Drift sighed, leaning against the countertop in what he still thought of as his and Ratchet’s dining space. He erased what was there and typed the truth instead.

 

 

> [MOB-082020-D]: Yeah. I mean, I think so. Day by day, you know.
> 
> [XTS-861218-R]: Yeah…
> 
> [XTS-861218-R]: I just wanted to be sure. I didn’t want you to… I don’t know.
> 
> [MOB-082020-D]: What?

 

Drift watched the screen, feeling an odd mix of curiosity and worry and a touch of dread.

 

 

> [XTS-861218-R]: I feel like when I showed up — I dunno. Like I may have gotten you worrying more about me than about your own self.
> 
> [MOB-082020-D]: Maybe I needed something else to worry about.
> 
>  

Silence.

 

 

> [MOB-082020-D]: Rodimus?
> 
> [MOB-082020-D]: Hey, if you’re really that worried, don’t be. I’m taking care of myself, just make sure you are too.

 

Still nothing. Drift sighed and stood, walking to the cupboard to pull out his favorite additives and make himself an energon mix. He had the suspicion that Rodimus was drinking again during this conversation, and the odd confessional turn had all but confirmed it. Long ago on the _Lost Light_ , he’d learned through experience that what little filter there was between Rodimus’ thoughts and glossa all but disappeared when he imbibed.

 

From across the room, he heard the beep of the palm-comm again. Energon in hand, Drift strode back to his seat, picking up the little device again.

 

 

> [XTS-861218-R]: ‘Course. Can’t impress if I’m not!
> 
> [XTS-861218-R]: But seriously, if you wanna talk about anything, you can.
> 
> [XTS-861218-R]: I guess — don’t feel restricted to light-heartedness if that isn’t what you want. I mean, you have all the reason not to be, so…

 

This too, Drift could picture in his mind’s eye. Rodimus struggling with the genuine and open nature of the words, putting aside the peek of guilt he’d shown previously.

 

Drift smiled.

 

 

> [MOB-082020-D]: Don’t worry. This has been just what I needed.
> 
> [XTS-861218-R]: You sure?
> 
> [MOB-082020-D]: Promise.

 

—

 

Three months since the first message and checking in with Rodimus had just become a daily habit. Not only had it been nice to do normal things and have normal conversations, building a new habit that didn’t feel like it was missing a Ratchet-sized hole had been immensely helpful in the hard weeks since his passing.

 

So now that it had been two days since their last exchange, and Drift found himself distracted.

 

What had happened? He’d reviewed their preceding conversation several times and could spot nothing out of the ordinary. No hidden meaning in Rodimus’ words, no unintentional slights in his own. Everything seemed normal… except for the silence.

 

A different sort of worry set in; Rodimus _was_ still out in space, after all. Despite how much things in the galaxy settled the further on they moved from the war, it was still _space_. Anything could happen.

 

Drift tried not to think about that. Part of him knew it had to be a depressing thought from a grieving mind, but — it was just reasonable enough that he couldn’t outright dismiss it. He tried not to think about the shadow of Rodimus’ heavy drinking — he’d been doing better with that, lately, after several pointed conversations. There was no point in imagining something terrible happening to Rodimus except to upset himself for no reason.

 

 _That_ was a truly reasonable thought, but — he glanced down at the palm-comm. The last four or five messages were from him: prodding sort of messages, seeking _any_ kind of response from his friend.

 

 

> [MOB-082020-D]: You alive?

 

Drift pursed his lips. Reasonable thoughts didn’t warm the cool, anxious grasp of his spark.

 

—

 

One more day of silence was torture. Drift was ready to get in touch with his own contacts, find some way to message _Exitus_ and demand Thunderclash show him that Rodimus was alive and well, and —

 

A knock on the door broke him out of these determined imaginings. Drift frowned; without Ratchet here, there were noticeably less visitors. That hadn’t bothered Drift — he preferred privacy when it came to grieving. But still… It was curious.

 

Drift frowned as he strode to the front door. If it was something banal he felt like he might scream.

 

When he opened the door to an achingly familiar red and gold frame, he felt the overworked gears in his processor grind to a halt. What his face looked like, Drift didn’t know — all he knew was that Rodimus was standing on his stoop, smiling sheepishly and already saying something, not that Drift seemed able to hear him.

 

His earlier irritation got crossed with his surprise and his relief that Rodimus was clearly fine. Or maybe he was really at his limit of emotional peaks. Whatever it was, Rodimus’ greeting was interrupted with a ringing _smack_ across his face.

 

Somehow, Drift looked as stunned as Rodimus.

 

Rodimus blinked wide, blue optics at him, holding his cheek as he stared at Drift. “I mean, not that I haven’t done enough to deserve it, but uh — ”

 

“Sorry,” Drift said. “I — just — you _worried_ me! I thought something awful happened when you stopped replying to me!”

 

Rodimus blinked. “Oh I — wanted to surprise you.”

 

“There’s better ways!” He reached out again, but gently, holding Rodimus’ free arm. “Please. I can’t lose anyone else right now. Don’t…”

 

“Hey.” Before Drift could let loose any further pleas, Rodimus pulled him into an embrace. It was warm and smelled of the same polish he’d always used, and Drift felt himself calming down instantly. “I’m sorry. I’m on shore leave, so I thought I’d come see you.”

 

Another familiar scent made it to his sensors though, and Drift lifted his helm out of the hug. “Are you _bleeding_?”

 

Rodimus laughed, and sure enough there was a thin streak of energon dribbling down his cheek. “You still hit hard.”

 

Drift sighed, but his smile was fond. “Well, come on inside, then. I have one of Ratty’s old kits lying around somewhere…” Truth be told, autorepair would probably take care of it no problem. But now Drift felt bad. “Find yourself a seat, I’ll be right back.”

 

Drift almost expected Rodimus to stay on his heels anyway, but his friend did eventually split off. Drift had gone into one of the spare rooms. It had once housed — and in reality still did — some of Ratchet’s tinker projects. Now it was home for some of Ratchet’s things that he hadn’t a clue what to do with yet. He hadn’t been here in a while… one of those things he kept putting off.

 

Drift could feel his thoughts engulfing him like a rising tide and shook his helm. Med kit. Right. He grabbed the small one he’d been thinking of and quickly trekked back to the sitting room where Rodimus waited upon the sofa.

 

The glisten of both natural and indoor lighting over the gloss of his paint was so nostalgic Drift could think he, too, was a memory and that the world around them might dissolve into surreality.

 

But it didn’t. Rodimus smiled at him and Drift felt a warmth in his spark that he knew was real. “Hey… you okay?”

 

Drift blinked. With as far as he’d been lingering in his own mind there was no telling what his expression might have been. He offered Rodimus a little smile as he strode forward to sit next to him on the couch. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I just — haven’t been through his things in a while.”

 

“Oh.” Rodimus placed a hand on Drift’s forearm. “Drift, it’s just a little scratch, you don’t have to — ”

 

Drift smiled again, and this one was easier. “Just two seconds,” he replied. Rodimus stayed obligingly still as Drift used a cleanser pad to clear away the few drops of energon and then affixed a small patch to the scrape.

 

“Thanks,” Rodimus said. Drift laughed as he packed up the kit again and set it aside. “What?”

 

“For hitting you?”

 

Rodimus snorted. “I’ll just give you hell about it later.”

 

Drift hummed, another smile touching his lips. Silence seeped in between them, but it was comfortable and lulling. After a few moments, Drift shrugged a shoulder. “Are you… staying somewhere in town?”

 

“Huh?”

  
“For your leave,” Drift elaborated. “I was asking if you had a place to stay. If you don’t, well… there’s more house here than I know what to do with. You’re welcome to some of it.”

 

A slow smile spread on Rodimus’ lips. “I appreciate it,” he said. “I might take you up on that.”

 

The hopeful bubble in Drift’s spark spread to a gentle, happy pulse through his field. “Great.”

 

—

 

By the third day, they’d made something of a routine. Drift gave up asking if Rodimus wanted to sight-see at any of the various locations. His reply that he’d been travelling a lot and didn’t mind sitting still for a bit sounded reasonable enough, though he hadn’t ever recalled Rodimus preferring to be still before.

 

Now they sat upon the floor, flipping through a viddy archive for potential entertainment.

 

“Do you normally stay in, then?”

 

The question sounded natural enough on Rodimus’ lips, but Drift knew better than to take it at face value. He shrugged, and the two of them were sitting close enough together that their shoulders bumped. “I suppose. But it isn’t as though I’ve shut out the world.”

 

Rodimus let out a soft huff from his vents. “I forgot how perceptive you are face to face,” he muttered. “Anyway, you sure? I know it’s been a while, but I didn’t envision you as a homebody, I guess.”

 

Drift laughed. “That’s fair. Anyway, I let you in, right?”

 

Rodimus snorted. “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the whole world.”

 

Drift didn’t reply for a long moment. He sighed and let the archive settle over their laps and shifted his weight to lean into Rodimus’ side instead. If it surprised Rodimus, he didn’t show it. “I got surprisingly used to being settled. After the memorial, it was so tempting to… go. To turn my back and get anywhere far away from a home full of stupid, happy, everyday memories. Maybe even convince myself that he’d be waiting on me here when I was done.” He took a shaky intake and let it out in a steadying sigh. That alone made him feel better, but he didn’t protest Rodimus wrapping an arm around him. “But I’ve had a few centuries more self-reflection, you know. And I knew it was just that… running away… not dealing with it. I don’t want to — I don’t know. That feels disrespectful. I don’t want to run from his memory, I want to honor it.”

 

Rodimus stayed quiet, simply holding him this way and letting their fields thrum together. “I know,” he said softly.

 

Drift turned his helm in, making no more pretense about it. The archive album toppled to the floor as he curled in, slipping his arms around Rodimus and tucking his helm against his chestplate. Rodimus wrapped both arms around him now, and he still smelled as sweetly warm and familiar as he had upon their first embrace a few days ago. “I don’t know how long your leave is,” he said, “but can you stay another day?”

 

His friend hummed. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

—

 

For the next several days they had similar exchanges. After a week, Drift began to suspect that “I’ll see what I can do” was less Rodimus calling in favors to Thunderclash and more covering for something — maybe Rodimus had been the one to do the running, not Drift. But that was fine with Drift. Selfish, maybe, but he didn’t care.

 

They could have their own adventures again. Had already talked about it. Not running, just travelling.

 

Just travelling. The stars would be theirs again.

**Author's Note:**

> ✿ [twitter.com/stardustbytes](https://twitter.com/stardustbytes) ☆ [stardustland](https://cosmicstardustland.wordpress.com/about/) ✿


End file.
